If I was given that chance to restart life all over again, I would have danced the same. The same fluctuating rhythmic movements alternating between awkwardness and agility, through the dizziness and the blur, to the same tumultuous tunes. Sometimes the tune grows quiet, monotonous and the moves become edgy. And I would move as slow as a tiptoe. Sometimes it gets so loud I had to dance so fast to keep up that it drowns me, I had to search for and reel myself from this abyss. But I would have danced the same. The same moves - the twirls, the leaps, the crouching, the freezing, the bending over backwards, the breaking, the running; away and towards. Sometimes with crippling anxiety, doubt and fear, other times with passion, and other times with unquestioning obedience and total surrendering. I would allow myself to fall flat on my face, I would then nurse my scraped knees myself. Sometimes I would bury my face in the pillow, with shame and humiliation while questioning my worth. But I